


Bitten

by SansThePacifist



Series: Hamilton Stories [4]
Category: Hamilton - Fandom, Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: A Lot of People Are Dead, Alexander dies, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Apocalypse, Alternate Universe - Modern, Alternate Universe - Modern Zombie Apocalypse, Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Angst, F/F, F/M, Full of Angst, Hurt No Comfort, I mean, M/M, Other, Poor Gwash, This is Mature for the (trigger) warnings and etc., This is a decently dark story, Zombies, or at least;; the warnings in general, this is just
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-17
Updated: 2017-12-17
Packaged: 2019-02-15 23:20:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13041627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SansThePacifist/pseuds/SansThePacifist
Summary: This man, a man who had lived to see all around him stab each other in the backs or die, a man who saw many different wars- some with humans against humans, some against humans and animals, humans fighting a war to save their families from raging seas and storms, humans fighting back against their own peoples, people they know, people they love, corpses- he had seen people struggle to survive, bullet wounds littering their bodies and shells dropping and shouts that were let out all ‘round. He had seen many things, flirted with death all too many times for it to be considered sane. He had danced with death many years and, now, it felt like she had come to take what she had made. What they, each and every person- alive or dead- he had ever met, had made.Every choice he had ever made, every book or document he had ever written, every day training to become strong and learn to protect himself, they all lead to this moment. He leaning over a bitten arm, only realizing after half a day that he had been in general. With few days left, little time to say his goodbyes and leave a mark- he smiled through the pain, looking up to see a blurry Washington.





	Bitten

**Author's Note:**

> I am IN LOVE with the Hamilton Zombie Apocalypse au's. They are absolutely amazing and fabulous and i just HAD TO write one. So take a short story <3
> 
> Trigger warnings (tw); Mentions of war, major character death, abandonment, zombie apocalypse, details of pain, minor character death, implied false friendships, violence/hurt, hurricane

He groaned, clutching his arm tightly. It wasn’t bleeding but it stung, it burnt him up from the inside and he could feel it spreading, he could feel it draining his color and control. It was exhausting, he had seen war, he had lived during war, he was in war, many times, he fought to defend. A new war had come few years ago, some sort of virus sprang into action and brought corpses back to life, if you were bitten by one of those corpses, you became infected- eventual death and transformation was unavoidable as soon as the teeth would have made contact- and will become one of them unless you amputate the place where it made contact before it spreads. He wanted to scream, but he felt weak, weaker, and it was far too late. He could feel the virus’ tendrils clutching at his arms and legs, slowly building up to his brain and heart. He was disorientated, focus slowly draining as he let out a soft whimper, he was dying.

This man, a man who had lived to see all around him stab each other in the backs or die, a man who saw many different wars- some with humans against humans, some against humans and animals, humans fighting a war to save their families from raging seas and storms, humans fighting back against their own peoples, people they know, people they love, corpses- he had seen people struggle to survive, bullet wounds littering their bodies and shells dropping and shouts that were let out all ‘round. He had seen many things, flirted with death all too many times for it to be considered sane. He had danced with death many years and, now, it felt like she had come to take what she had made. What _they_ , each and every person- alive or dead- he had ever met, had made.

Every choice he had ever made, every book or document he had ever written, every day training to become strong and learn to protect himself, they all lead to this moment. He leaning over a bitten arm, only realizing after half a day that he had been in general. With few days left, little time to say his goodbyes and leave a mark- he smiled through the pain, looking up to see a blurry Washington. That man was already grieving his loss, eyes searching for some sort of sign that it was all a joke.

 _“I had succeeded my mission, sir,_ ” he had paused, trying to compose himself as a surge of pain went through him, buckling his knees, and letting one of his many friends catch him. “ _but I am afraid I didn’t come back unscathed. Washington, sir._ ” He silently begged, “ _Please be the one to kill me before I succumb to this virus._ ” The pain was becoming too much, soon there would be nothing left of a formal consciousness. His eyes were already brimming with tears long before he arrived home, but they only then started to fall, “ _Please let me die human._ ”

A woman, his friend- Eliza, had choked on a sob, grabbing the hand on the unafflicted arm and holding it close to her chest. He could feel her warmth and god- she was warm, or maybe he was just cold? It hurt to breathe. He was shutting down, already pale beyond belief, Washington allowed the others to grieve him, hold his hand, talk to him, let them say goodbyes and make amends. Jefferson and James visiting Hamilton on his deathbed was a surprise, though they didn’t apologize about their opinions, but for treating him poorly. he gave them a weak and thin smile, chest stuttering as he tried to hack up words of forgiveness, but the smile spoke more than well enough for the man. His trusted words and voice, his trusted writings, that were failing him were useless now that he was in deaths clutches, flirting with her once more and complimenting her dancing.

He was to die, he was already dead in the eyes of others, so when Washington pressed a gun against his head, whispering an apology, he only smiled. It was fate, he supposed, that he could live many years, escape death more than a hundred times, or that he could do so much as to not be forgotten, work so hard to become someone special, but die after one of the most important missions. He made himself wings of fabric and feathers, wires and cotton, flying high and falling low. He would be forgotten, he knew so, everyone was forgotten, people worried about living more than writing down their everyday or history, so he did the work. Perhaps someone would continue it, perhaps someone would take credit for everything he worked oh so hard to do.

Everyone in their group had hurt him at some point, even sweet Eliza was not innocent. She broke his heart, acting as a rock before turning to steel and breaking the tie. He would always love her, he knew so, but looking at her did nothing to help the fluttering pain in his chest. Lafayette exploded at him after John’s death, telling him that all he had done would be for nothing, not many would understood why that impacted him so. Hercules, the mother hen, tried his best but ended up bringing pains he would have never imagine existed if not for the man’s ability to pack a punch. It was an accident, they both were drunk, but he ended up fighting a man he trusted. Most of the others, it was something small, an off-handed comment that stabbed him in the back, a rumor that made him feel everything he did was for naught.

Washington, George, that man, on the other hand reminded him of a past he would rather forget. He reminded him of days curled up next to his mother alone, he reminded him of days while he fought for America, doing his best to succeed, to survive. He reminded him of his father of whom showered him in cheap gifts and seashells before vanishing from his life. He reminded him of a life he could have had, happy, living with a family who could have loved him, a family that was alive and treated him well. He reminded him of fighting illness, keeping his mother company as the warmth drained from her. He reminded him of a fantasy where this apocalypse never happened, where he was young and dreamed of glory once more, more than willing to fight the world and die to show others that he was worth something. He reminded him of fantasies where he was adopted by the Washington's, loved by them unconditionally, helped through his memories and problems. He reminded him of a father figure, a true father of his, someone always there, not treating him much different than others but still loving him- he reminded him of Martha. He reminded him of something that could have _never_ happened.

But at that point, none of that mattered because he finally saw Washington as a father doing what he must, even if it was only in his dying moments, and the trigger was pulled.


End file.
